Little Goat Mountain bewusstsein

"herbs. dead things. anything ve might forage." wylla was amenable to the dearth of prey, but would she not be above scavenging if it came to such things? the land and its ragged changes forced them into testimonials of their own strength. the she-wolf would be no different; he had faith she would find the ability to prevail within her.
"stigmata vas ambitious. in more vays than vone," he commented quietly, deciding not to elaborate on that note. his kill-brother's legacy would be preserved not only in his children, but in mahler's refusal to speak ill of the dead. he would only think the matters upon which he could not expound.
it rested upon the tip of his tongue to ask after tiercel, but wylla had volunteered no more information after that. it would therefore be impolite to inquire again. somehow, some way, he was desperate to make small talk as he had never been with a singular soul, this lukewarm sort of conversation that benefitted neither party. belatedly, mahler recognized it as his longing to know her again, to reacqaint with wylla in a warmer way than they had parted.
onward the gargoyle pressed, silent now, pensive.